


To Have

by myeung



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Clintasha happens only if you squint, Gradual Build-Up, M/M, Romance here and there, Sexual Content, Stockholm-Lima, pseudo-incest but hello he's adopted, which is my reason to do anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myeung/pseuds/myeung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki doesn't want to go back to Asgard. Not with Thor. This was not his plan, and it's the one time he can't escape.</p><p>Set post-Avengers (with flashbacks to pre-Thor), pre-Dark World.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Capture

He had begged for the muzzle, actually. Norns strike him if anyone else had found that out and why. Even Thor was oblivious to the reason, but Loki needed that muzzle.

If he didn’t have it on, he’d start talking, and if he started talking, he’d burst into tears. Once the tears come, there’s no going back. He’d have to explain everything and then some. And gods, did he hate having to explain himself. So he sat in his new containment unit with all his fetters on, and tried to remember where he had gone wrong…

_It began rather harmlessly, one particularly uneventful afternoon back home. (Home. That word still carries some warmth with it, but Loki shrugs it off—he’s so used to the cold now.) Thor was out getting massively drunk with Sif and the others for some reason or another, and Loki was in the library mastering a spell—the ideal end results of which had eluded him for years, until that day._

_He ran to the seamstresses’ part of the wing, which thankfully were empty at the time, as fast as his bare feet could take him—his feet were now too small for his boots. For a moment, while running, he had almost bumped into a pillar because he had been marvelling at the alabaster skin and delicate shape they now had. He cursed and kept running, hoping no one would recognize his prince’s attire but not him—her—in it. Norns know what would happen if someone caught a woman in Loki’s armour. The whole of Asgard would talk._

_Loki slammed the door shut, breathed heavily for a moment, and nervously began stripping off his clothes. With each clang of metal and shift of leather, with each increasing inch of ivory flesh exposed, his heartbeat grew louder and louder. He stopped for a moment to look at the curve of his shoulders—if he did say so himself, even they were quite lovely. He shuddered before browsing through the gowns. He didn’t trust himself to look at his naked female form yet._

_He decided on a powder-blue gown—his usual emerald green was too obvious. It shimmered with every movement and hung off the new lines of his body in such a way that delighted his suddenly girlish instincts. He walked slowly, cautiously, to the full-length mirrors on the farthest corner of the room. He nearly gasped at the sight._

_She was still pale; her features still fine, and her limbs still long. But there was a new softness to Loki’s face, a new curl to her hair, and some fascinating quality to the structure of her hands—a deceptive frailty, she decided. Even this early on she knew she had lost none of her male strength in the transformation—she was still stronger than, say, Sif._

_Now this form needed a name. She stared into her own green eyes and thought about her—his—many lifetimes. Countless adventures and misadventures, a thousand mistakes and the twice-as-many ways one could fix them, every single moment Loki has been in existence had led to this one thing. It was the one desire he should have realized long, long ago but was so clear now, and even though Thor would return inevitably inebriated, Loki would have this. He—she would take this, however mindless the rutting, however incoherent the murmurs of affection, however long or short the encounter would be, however aware she—he was that this would be a cyclical sort of folly; he would be as a serpent devouring itself by the tail endlessly… it would be his, nonetheless._

_Ouroborah._

_A far cry from his real name (which was safe) but it fit somehow, however awkward-sounding it was at first. Armed, then, with a name, she could answer other questions with a quick fabrication of anything that caught her fancy, and thus she stepped out of the room._

_She had expected—wanted, really, because it would have been quite romantic—to be found wandering about in the gardens. She would have a flower in either hand or hair and be humming to herself. The sunset would envelop her in its sleepy warmth and Thor would see her from afar and (rather bold with drink) come to kiss her hand, ask her name, and maybe invite her to the soonest possible banquet. Or even dinner that very night, if he could be so forward. Then Ouroborah would coyly refuse and leave the Prince delightfully flushed—Loki could have that, keep that image in mind forever and a day, cherish it—_

_What she didn’t expect was for her heart to stop at the sight of a relatively sober Thor, bumping into her just a few steps from the seamstresses’._

Loki smiled a little under his muzzle at that memory—back when things went according to plan. Back when these events and his desires were under his control and stayed that way.

With one look at Thor, who was gazing at him hungrily through the glass, he blinked back tears—he would not give him the satisfaction—and stared right back. Thankfully, Stark had led him away and the broken trickster could return to his regularly scheduled weeping. That same look on Thor’s face… he’d seen it a thousand times. His whole body ached at the recollection, the implications and presuppositions that look carried with it. There were more tears to fight, until he remembered the first time he had seen that look.

_Thor’s cape had been torn by the Warriors Three in a fit of drunken, brotherly affection. Why he was in no such stupor was beyond anyone, and by now, beside the point. The daze he was currently in was caused by something different entirely as his tongue stumbled between a greeting and an apology—abruptly stopped by a giggle from the lady. His eyes went wide with… with… something._

_When he remained agape and silent, the lady gave him a small smile. She lowered her eyes and said with a curtsey, “I seem to have lost my way, my lord.” At this, Thor straightened himself and reached for her wrist. “It would be my honour to give a lovely lady such as yourself,” he paused to kiss her hand, “a tour of the palace. But before I do I would have one token from you.”_

_Her breath hitched. Could Thor really be so forward? “What would that be, my lord?”_

_“Your name,” and that was all, before he offered her his arm._

_Loki had never seen this side of Thor, not with anyone. Even with women he was rather rough; his motions unforgiving, and his words crass. Perhaps, Loki thought, Mother had gotten through to him at last. She smiled at the thought but passed it off as a gesture of favour for the Prince as she gave him her name._

_“Unusual name—but lovely,” he said, smiling ever so sweetly back at her. But in those eyes, blue as the lilies in the Queen’s garden, Loki could see a storm brewing—a hunger—and at this her stomach twisted with a sick, easy sense of accomplishment._

It was all downhill from there, really.


	2. Wager

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here have some fluff before we get to the rougher stuff.

It was necessary, then, to leave a sentient replica of Loki back in his chambers. She knew that much. It didn’t take much concentration—she had used this spell enough to fully master it, but not quite so often as to be careless with it. Thus everything was set; Ouroborah could spend as much time with the Crown Prince of Asgard as he would give her.

It happened to be a rather formidable amount.

Again, Loki had never fathomed, not for the life of him—well, her, that Thor could be a gentleman. Their first two days together the raven-haired beauty had spent anticipating, her stomach in knots, and with every brush of the Prince’s fingers her heart would stop. Her eyes would go wide and her breath would hitch. He would, of course, notice, but these reactions were misconstrued; he would apologize for overstepping boundaries. With an involuntary sigh that immediately elicited an afterthought along the lines of ‘Gods, how womanly,’ from her male subconscious, she looked up at Thor through dark lashes and through a nervous giggle insisted it was alright.

He took her to see the city first. Truth was Loki had never seen it from any perspective except from slightly above—on a horse. So when Thor met Ouroborah just outside the palace in garb that was most certainly less than kingly, her expression gave her away.

“Used to stallions, are you, my dear?” Thor chuckled, clutching a grey cloak for her that would almost fully cover her long burgundy tunic. She looked up at him to retaliate but with the remark she had in mind he might suspect the trick; even she could admit Thor was not that stupid. After a beat, he bowed low and kissed her pale hand. “You blush most prettily, I must say.”

In a fit of instinctive coyness she turned away to catch her lips in her other hand. There were no lies in what she said next. “You don’t mean to take me to see the market, do you, my lord? I’ve never ventured further into it than the outskirts, I—I can only imagine the dangers, and even then I shudder…“ She was interrupted by a whoosh of fabric around her ears that settled on her shoulders, and a hand under her chin. “I’ll protect you, fair one,” he whispered reassuringly. For some reason or another, his words were enough.

And so they walked. She knew that Thor often disguised himself as a commoner, sneaked out of the palace when he had time. It was a mystery as to why anyone would want to leave the grandest part of the golden city. But tonight Ouroborah would find out why this excursion was so special.

Maybe it was the warm glow of the lights that were so unlike the roaring fires of the palace, or the hospitable sincerity of the merchants and their wives that would scandalize Odin’s court. Perhaps it was the welcoming smell of the street roasts, or the now-muted colours of the various plants young women had for sale. It could have been the music that had no singular melody but was harmonious all the same, that had children dancing around their mothers’ skirts and with each other as night approached to celebrate life with them.

But she was almost sure that it was the flowers Thor had given her, the meal and mild ale they had shared, and the fact that he never let her arm unlock from his.

Slipping back into the palace once Ouroborah was certain Thor had gone to sleep and would not come looking for Loki, she put the flowers in a vase on the vanity of her bathing chambers. She stared at them even as she became Loki again, feeling no loss at the change but a twinge (just a twinge) of guilt at the deception.

Transformed, exhausted, and in the middle of his bath, Loki hung his head and asked himself just what he was getting into.

The next day, as the replica attended some audience or other with the Queen, (ah, the despicable duties of a second son; though, Loki loved his mother and would take Mjolnir to the face for her) Ouroborah awaited Thor at the stables just as she was told to the night before. Strangely enough, her horse—Loki’s horse—recognized her and gave a small whinny in greeting. The carrots she brought would not be lost after all.

“Hello there, boy,” she whispered kindly, petting his neck and feeding him a carrot. He blinked at her, as if to say _I know what you’re doing and I hope you do too_ and munched gratefully. Suddenly he and another horse whinnied another greeting at a shadow Ouroborah only just noticed. Thor had arrived and looked a little panicked.

“What is the matter, my lord?” she breathed.

“Nothing, except… that is my brother’s horse,” replied Thor with an audible gulp.

“Is he so very possessive? I can see why, it is a magnificent beast.” She gave the creature another fond pat.

“Not possessive as much as he is meticulous. He doesn’t like other people touching what belongs to him.”

The way he had said it made her heart sink into her guts. Was Loki really so repulsive to Thor? Could Thor only love Ouroborah?

“Be not mistaken, my lady. I care for my brother—our bond runs deep. It would just… I don’t know, perhaps, make my duties as a sibling that much easier if he would be a little more pleasant to everyone.”

Her heart was crushed by the unpleasant clench of her stomach. “Oh,” was all she could bring herself to say.

“Hold your head high, fair one. A grey cloak may suit you well but a grey countenance does not.”

“I would wager,” she replied, managing a small smile, “that you have said that to countless maidens.”

He reached for her hand, kissed it—oh, it made her grin that much wider—and said, “I have never said that to anyone.”

After a pause that wasn’t uncomfortable in the least (not at all, and Loki would never again properly recall if his female form had sighed aloud or not) Thor brought out his horse and saddled it himself. He offered his hand to assist Ouroborah onto the steed and followed behind her without missing a beat. She had never noticed how graceful Thor could be, if he wanted. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head in an attempt to mask her musings from him.

She waved to her horse as Thor’s trotted out of the stables, feeling unsure of herself. Her horse, she would swear on the seidr of the Allfather, was actually giving her a grave look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's how Asgardians say "I bet you say that to all the girls."
> 
> Hit me with tomatoes, I'm ready.


	3. Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I know. Don't spear me!
> 
> Thank you, thank you all for your patience.

“Don’t hide from me.”

She turned her head just a bit and gave a noncommittal hum by way of giving him some indication, if at all, that she had heard him. But she knew Thor too well, and if the bond he had spoken so fondly of was anything to go by, he knew her too, even if he didn’t realize it. Ouroborah just managed to keep him off that course by pretending and twisting the little things—like pretending not to hear him sometimes.

Which, regrettably, was also a very Loki thing to do.

Thor decided he would take the lady to the river Queen Frigga used to bring him and Loki to when they were very small. There she would sit with her sons, telling them stories of her days before she was wed to Odin, and of the days he would attempt to court her—“attempt” being the right word, because for the first several seasons she had absolutely no interest in him, and only consented to accompany him to some court event or other to try and get him to stop. “And obviously, my little ones,” she had laughed, with Loki’s horrified face peering up at her, “that backfired.”

This she told them as her magic made two figures—herself and her husband—out of water, one leaning on an invisible door supposedly to keep it shut and the other clutching a non-existent bouquet of flowers: that they, too, would fall in love one day. They had misunderstood at the time and thought it would be with each other.

But today, Thor understood just fine, and _knew_ it would be with each other.

“And you’re just going to grunt at me all day, are you?” Thor said with a bit of a laugh as he hopped off his horse.

The lady smiled indulgently—Loki’s smile when Thor tried to be funny. Oh, the Golden Prince was so certain now. “Keep telling me what to do outside of the court and maybe I will,” she retorted, holding out her harms expectantly and allowing herself to be lifted effortlessly off the steed. “My,” she continued, still held aloft, “but the rumours of your strength do not do you justice, my lord.” Now, this was true. And only then had Loki experienced it first-hand, for he had never faced Thor in battle, or even in training. The thought of what might have happened in the past had she done so sent an unpleasant—yet strangely arousing—shiver down her spine and the jolt of a challenge in her male subconscious.

“Keep talking like that and I just might not put you down!” Thor roared playfully, lowering her just until they touched noses. Without warning he lifted her higher up again and took three big steps backward, in an effort to make her squeal. Thor thought this would be the only time he’d have the chance to catch his brother in a dress, making near-inhuman noises as only women can. Not to humiliate him, never, but to be able to say that for a moment, Loki was truly vulnerable in front of him. In any case, he did not get his wish. The lady—and, Thor was quite sure, the horse—burst out laughing.

“If you’re trying to get me to make some noise or other, you’ll have to come up with something better than that,” she said, looking him dead in the eye, as though challenging him.

He lowered her again and touched their foreheads together. “I think I have,” he said, lowering his voice just a little, looking up at her tenderly, “brother.”

And there it was—a scream. Whether of embarrassment or fear of punishment neither of them knew. But Thor nearly dropped her.

“No, no! Ouro—Loki, wait! Ssh!”

“Oh, by the Nine—“

“Loki, listen to me—“ he tried to begin, setting her down on the grass.

“How long have you known?!”

“I suspected when I took you to the marketplace. I found a servant replacing the flowers in your room but then I thought that was just coincidence.”

“So, this morning…”

“I knew by the time I saw you with your horse. There are only two people your horse abides, Loki: you and me. I’m not that stupid.”

“Yet you did not think to speak of it before?”

“I thought we should spend more time together. And I have enjoyed this.”

“Brother, I—”

“Loki, no. It's alright. Truly. In fact, I… I’m glad it is you.”

There was a lull, a silence, or nearly so, when Ouroborah—Loki, turned to look at the river and dropped to her knees on the ground. Her only response for a long time was a sigh.

Thor rubbed the back of his neck, confused. The truth was, between Ouroborah and Loki, his feelings were seamless. It did not disgust him that Loki would demand more affection from him in this little (not so little) devious way, he thought to himself as he made to sit next to her, especially when—

“This isn’t wrong, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’m not even really—“

“I know. I’ve known for almost a year. Seidr does not drain you as it does Father.”

“Yet you still call me brother. Even,” she paused with a snort, “in this form.”

“Well. Old habits…”

“Yes. Well.”

“Remember how Mother used to take us here? That one afternoon when she said…”

“I remember, you sentimental fool.”

“A fool now, am I?!” Thor roared.

Another silence. This one was even less comfortable than the first, with Loki’s lip trembling and her eyes shut tight.

“I apologize. I did not mean to raise my voice.”

An exhale of relief. “I know. You never do. It just…”

“Does, yes.”

“You said you were glad it’s me,” said Loki, looking up with those emerald, emerald eyes, greener than the grass, deeper than any sea, trying to mask the hope her voice could not. Thor reached for her hand and held it to his cheek. And on the very spot that the Queen had told them that one day they would fall in love, they did. It seemed an almost cruel full circle, in spite of the brightness of their surroundings; yes, cruel, as the Fates were wont to be.

Loki breathed. “Did you mean it?”

Thor shut his eyes— _No, no, no, don’t take that vast, stormy blue away from me_ , Loki wanted to shout—and leaned in to kiss her on the corner of her mouth. She moved, turning it into a chaste slide of lips, nothing more, yet they could swear they felt the earth beneath them move, even as they pulled apart.

“Aye.”


	4. Lose

They had decided to treat it as any other pair would a wedding night.

It would be in neither of their rooms, but in a tower left unused after they had gotten too old and too familiar to go exploring the palace. Loki had taken the time to clean and make something of a home of it—for they could not very well ask the servants, or they would talk—while Thor went on a hunt alone for the meal they would share and the fur on which they would lie together.

They could hardly look at each other for all their excitement. (And for all the care they had taken, the Queen knew. Only she never breathed a word, for, unlike her husband, she trusted that what must be, must be. And look at how happy they were…)

Asgard welcomed the Summer solstice with a three-day celebration—so the flush on their skin and the calm that evaded them on these days were put down to that. At the feast the Allfather held, the two hardly ate, knowing what awaited them when they both managed to slip away, an hour apart from each other. While many asked what had happened to the ravishing young thing Thor had been seen with, the Golden Prince would feign deep disappointment and gave some reason—one fabricated by Loki, no doubt—for her disappearance.

Loki, on the other hand, had never been so grateful to go relatively unnoticed. The sting was still there (Will it ever cease? he wondered) but his excitement overrode it as he took his leave from the festivities.

The hour he spent waiting for Thor was one of the slowest in his life.

Loki sat on the rug and got up again, checking the meal to make sure it was still warm, pacing around the room, constantly readjusting something on his person as though the man he awaited was some foreign king and himself the new consort, the two never having met before in their lives. He had to remind himself that it was only Thor—yet it was not. Not only. Here was his brother, his world entire, the being he loved the most in the whole universe, without question or reason. Thor, who loved him in any form he took, and so insisted that Loki be as he had always appeared. Ouroborah could come back later, should they ever feel adventurous, but for now, things as they had always been were perfect.

The door creaked and Loki jumped. This was the clumsiest and most aware of his hands he had ever been, but to his relief, Thor looked every bit as nervous. He bolted the door and made to sit on the rug, made from the beast he hunted himself just for this purpose. He chuckled when his and Loki’s eyes met, shifting uncomfortably where he sat.

The room was small and circular, with few embellishments, though Loki had tried to make it feel like a sort of escape for them. He knew the summer nights to be cold and so he kept the hues warm with the only acceptable combination of their favourites, red and gold. He was still fiddling with this vase and that chair, adjusting the curtains to conceal his nerves, doing anything to calm himself down and just get through this night he wasn’t even sure he was entirely ready for.  
“My love, if you would rather wait for another night, I wouldn’t mind. We can still share the meal and lie close to each other on the rug, but I will not touch you that way if you do not wish it. I would do this right.”

Loki looked at him, shocked. He would never have said that himself to another, not even a maiden. No, he had definitely never said that to a maiden. But then, they had all been eager and scheming to get into the palace, maybe earn the Queen’s favour in this underhanded manner, so perhaps that there was no such question was justified. However, Loki’s chest seemed to clench with a sudden twist of affection for his brother that he could not explain. It grew as he walked over and sat next to him.

“And they call me Silvertongue,” he laughed nervously.

“You misunderstand, Loki. Of course I want this, I want you, more than anything. And I choose to believe that I am giving myself to you as much as you are giving yourself to me.”

During the pause, Loki suddenly realized what Thor meant.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I love you and can deny you nothing. Of course I would.”

“Thor, I—”

“It does not matter, my heart. What I wanted most tonight was holding you after. We can do that and nothing else.”

Loki could not bring himself to speak. Loki would not trust himself to. Instead he threw his arms around his brother and kissed him soundly on the cheek, just in front of the ear, just before folding in on himself and almost sinking into the other man’s lap. “Thor.” He wasn’t sure if he said it out loud or not. Suddenly he was overcome with a piercing cold. “Sshh,” cooed Thor.

After a long pause, Loki said in a panicked whisper, “Touch me.”

“Brother—”

“Touch me, I said!” The demand was firm but there was a tremor to it. Loki waved a hand. Their meal disappeared and the fire died down immediately. “Please. Thor, please.”

When Thor did not move, Loki removed his tunic and laid himself down, eyes shut tight and fists clenched at his sides. What a darling thing, Thor thought. “You are certai—”

“Yes!”

If asked later, Loki would recall feeling triumphant the moment Thor crawled over him. But in hindsight it was, as he had feared, defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Developments. Rather arrested (and excruciatingly short) but there you go.
> 
> I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, LIFE HAPPENED


	5. Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steamehhh. Hee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW it took a while. Have some smut. Bad smut. I've never written smut before.

His palms ached with the recollection.

For all the care he took and preparations made, with every second prior filled with a glow he could never quite explain, and never an inkling of doubt or shame (not once, not at all, don't even think it, Loki) it was difficult now not to regret it. In the mobile cell from SHIELD he was left alone to these memories, searching for someone to blame for every red dot in the timeline he was mentally mapping out in silence.

Because it was not his fault for loving Thor, ever. It was never anyone's fault for loving Thor. He made himself so lovable without ever knowing, with all his childlike enthusiasm and booming voice, his battle prowess and deep concern for those he considered friends, and everything else that made him precious, a godling, a hero.

But when he really wanted something and didn't get it, things tended to get ugly. 

_Loki remembers with ambivalence._

\---

It surged in and through and out of him, and whether it was everything he had ever felt for Thor coming to life in his veins or the golden prince's own power spilling over none could say, least of all themselves. All they knew was that this was amazing. Finery shed and clothes forgotten, they were a fluid, tangled mass of skin and heat and sweat and tongues and hands, knowing no one beheld them. Every touch was unbidden, but welcome. 

Only they would ever knew such glorious ache. 

Loki had never sparred with Thor nor lain with a man, but he knew what he liked when he had a maiden beneath him and understood, suddenly, that when a man knows what to do in the bed chambers such things come naturally. He ran his hands up the sculpted plains of Thor's back, sighing at the dips and grooves born there of training and combat, as Thor licked and nibbled away at his neck and collarbones, holding himself above Loki, careful not to press his weight down. The sounds the pale prince made went straight to both their groins, and invited pleased grunts from the Thunderer as he worked his way to Loki's chest. 

He gasped when Thor reached his right nipple, already peaked with anticipation, almost offering itself to the approaching mouth. Teasing it with the softest, tiniest kiss, Thor shrugged off Loki's hands and caught them in his own, pinning them on either side. He positioned himself so that he was almost sitting on Loki's knees, trapping him before taking that dark spot of sensitive flesh between his lips, meeting it with his tongue. 

Loki nearly arched off the rug when, faintly, almost distantly, he heard Thor say, "Look at me, darling, look at me." 

"Huh?" said Loki, almost in a haze. He lifted his head and looked down his body to find Thor kissing his way to his flat belly, giving his navel a little nip before hovering over Loki's erection, teasing him inadvertently with his panting. It was too much, and not enough, and he didn't know which way he wanted to go from there until--oh--

Suddenly Thor's mouth was on him, sloppy, hot, altogether wonderful. It was evident he'd never lain with a man before (who knows if he had ever wanted to, before Loki) but he made up for lack of skill with enthusiasm and knowing what he liked. Turns out what he liked, Loki liked too. The way the Trickster writhed and whimpered was enough. Both hands were on Loki--one on his hip and the other assisting Thor in his ministrations.

It did not take long after that for Loki to come with a shout. Then and only then did Thor tease a slicked finger around Loki's entrance, swallowing the sticky mess, looking up at him like he was grateful for the spill. He hummed as though it were the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. Loki nearly spasmed with pleasure at the feeling. 

He was pliant and quiet throughout Thor's fingering and scissoring him open, save for the occasional whimper that spurred the Thunderer on, his cock raging red and virtually untouched this whole time.

"My turn, little one," he whispered into Loki's ear, already lining himself up. The younger prince nearly melted at the words, but felt himself shot back to life when Thor began to breach him at the most perfect pace. He inhaled sharply, his limpness gone and his limbs locked around the other man again in a second. "Th-Thor..." he whined.

"Again, darling. Say my name."

"Thor, please..."

"Please, what? Tell me what you want, my heart." Thor was struggling to stay still and his breath was coming in shallow.

"Please, move. Thor, oh gods--"

And so Thor moved at a steady, even speed, adjusting his hips in case he could find--

"NORNS ALIVE, THOR, YES!"

Ah. Found it.

Loki spilled again between them with an almost pained cry, with Thor mouthing the corner of his parted lips, sending him into a spiral of blinding pleasure. In one fluid motion, Thor was up on his knees, holding Loki's hips up (the latter looking very much like a rag doll if not for his flushed skin and heavy panting) and fucking him like he might never get the chance again in the next 5,000 years.

Thor's orgasm, like himself, and like the accompanying roar, was a mighty thing.

There was one enormous flash of lightning--as though Thor had controlled his powers so very well up until that final moment--and then stillness.

"I love you." From whom it came first neither of them were certain. But it did not matter.

\---

Not at the time, anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know/remember where I meant to go from here; but I'm putting up this short chapter to get back into the swing of things. It was my first real fic in a long time (maybe ever) so I've decided that if I make some mistakes or missteps, it's fine. As long as I see this through. Sorry if I left anybody high and dry.

It was all and everything Loki could do to keep himself from crying.

The muzzle helped. Truly.

He thought to himself, as Thor led him onto the site of the end of the Bifrost, that perhaps that wasn't where it all went wrong. He knew Thor loved him, in his own twisted, childish, ruffian way. Thor never said things he didn't mean and didn't always understand the repercussions of his brash actions, or indeed that they were brash at all.

Perhaps he would just have to be understanding--but that was a quality he had given up when he had begun to grow desperate and torn, feeling himself split into wanting two completely, utterly different things at once. For he wanted Thor, would always want Thor, in whatever form he took and wherever the centuries would take them. That would never change. But in this life, and in every life before and since he also wanted freedom. In this body and in their predicament, being with Thor came with so much burden and responsibility and things that just didn't belong, things that took the intricacies of who they were and entangled them in such a way that one of them was likely to suffocate. And that would probably be Loki.

Loki was always a weak link of that sort. He was no stranger to the feeling. Especially in this life.

Every inch of him belonged to Thor and they both knew it. There was no running from it, more so now with the steps he had taken to secure such a fate, and the steps he had not taken to ensure that it would be a good one.

It had been a few months into their affair when, one night, Thor's actions were just a notch short of unexpected. Only a notch. Because he would merely pout when Loki refused him, and that often ended when Loki kissed him and ran his fingers through the golden rivers of his hair--to the quiet delight of them both--until they fell asleep.

But, indeed, that one night, Thor had held him a little too close, too quickly, a little too roughly. Loki whined. Thor whispered, in a way that (Loki convinced himself at the time) resembled playfulness, "When have I denied you anything?" Loki bumped his behind onto Thor's burgeoning erection, and it didn't take much after that.

And in prior days, Thor had always let Loki's hands roam free on his person, let Loki give him some helpful pushes and pulls to make it satisfying for them both. Neither of them had ever complained, and so Loki would see no reason to object to anything Thor wanted--after all, it was true, Thor never said no to him. So it was only fair that such generosity was reciprocated.

It was, indeed, fair, even when Thor began to seem insatiable. It came to a point where Loki never had to initiate their trysts, if he wanted. He simply had to wait for Thor, and while most pairs of lovers would believe this to be monotonous, well... sex with either of them was always anything but. In fact, it gave Loki a chance to get very, very creative. Like when he turned himself into a woman again, and played be a stranger in Thor's bed, which exhilarated them both, or those evenings when he decided more than two could play their game, and he cloned himself. Or herself. Or both. Or Thor.

Thor considered himself an unfairly lucky godling; you and I know that in this rich summer of his youth such a godling is wont to push said luck. And that is where it began, Loki supposes, with those deadly innocent words: "When have I denied you anything?"

There was more pushing.

More pulling.

More demands.

And never once did Loki think to cry, or cry out; why would he? He loved Thor.

Which was always the damned problem. Which was why he was so close to crying _now_.

**Author's Note:**

> I would have it known that for the majority of the twenty-four hours in a day I mostly bump into things, literally and figuratively. This work is no exception.
> 
> Also, my Tumblr be sometimeskaren. Don't ask. Or go ahead. Or whatever welp


End file.
